The Flying Red Horse Read online

  “Sure enough. We’re all handsome, Rosemary. We never carry guns and if we should happen to have one on, accidentally, we always refrain from shooting women in the back. We never kick even a man when he is down. We shoot a cardsharp on sight, if we happen to have the gun, and we never drink whisky or kiss the other fellow’s girl.”

  Amanda smiled her precise smile and Rosemary’s laughter tinkled like a silver bell. Her forget-me-not blue eyes looked into Patrick’s with childlike innocence, but her medieval smile told him he might change his mind when it came to kissing other girls.

  Can this girl be? I asked myself. Very definitely she could. There she sat, with Patrick falling for her, and Amanda gazing fondly at her, and me having to pretend I liked it.

  Fondness and love came into Amanda’s face whenever she looked at Rosemary.

  “Would you take Rosemary and me for sisters, Jean?” The first name did not come as easy to Amanda as to Iles. “Juliana and I look alike. We look like our father. Rosemary is like Mother. She came along when Julie and I were already big girls, and when our parents died Rosemary was only ten, so she really was our baby.”

  “Three sisters with no brothers are always dramatic,” I said. That didn’t sound right from me, either. Amanda and Rosemary exchanged glances.

  And then Juliana Willoz arrived, announcing ahead of her that Lucius and Kim would be right in.

  Her resemblance to Amanda was superficial. She was rather like a caricature of her stylish older sister, for she was carelessly dressed in a black dress, with a mangy-looking wrap of some dark shiny fur. Her hair was dyed auburn. Her black eyes were beady, her nose too big, and her chin too long, and you learned pronto that she was a bore.

  Lucius Brady seemed to be a friend of the family. He kissed Amanda, shook hands with Iles, flapped a gay hand at Rosemary, and acknowledged us with ceremony. Another medieval item, I thought.

  “Lemonade, Julie?” Iles asked.

  Juliana smiled gaily, showing nice teeth.

  “Not tonight, Iles. Champagne cocktail, tonight.”

  “What?” Amanda asked. She smiled at us. “Juliana is our teetotaler.”

  “Not tonight, but don’t ask why,” Juliana said, coquettishly.

  “And for you, Brady?”

  There was a change in Iles’s tone, a coolness, when he addressed Brady.

  “My usual, Iles. Dry martini, with an onion.” Brady’s voice made your spine feel like a harp string.

  He was anything but handsome, and in his late forties at least, and only medium tall. His hair was graying, his face horsey. His blue eyes had a dreamy look which Patrick declared was due to his being nearsighted. He had a wide, heavy mouth, but his smile was beautiful because he had beautiful teeth.

  The drinks were brought. Juliana lifted her glass.

  “Tomorrow I’ll tell you my secret.”

  “Well, here’s to whatever it is, Julie,” Iles said comfortably.

  “Must be exciting,” Amanda said, a trifle tartly.

  Brady said, “Isn’t she tantalizing, Amanda? Driving me here from my hotel she talked this same way. We’ve got to find out what she’s up to.”

  “We’ll find out,” Amanda said indifferently. “How long will you be in Dallas this time, Lucius?”

  “Depends. I planned to fly back to New York tomorrow, but something has come up.”

  Amanda’s velvety eyes watched him. Juliana darted him an excited glance. Rosemary gave him a long sky-blue look and smiled her hypnotic smile. There was no further interest in Juliana’s exciting secret. She didn’t expect it.

  She is the kind sister, the vulgar one, the dull one, I thought, and turned my attention to Kim Forsythe.

  He was grim. He had downed a double bourbon straight and was already having another. I contrasted him to the way I had seen him outside our hotel when I had arrived in Dallas. Then he was frank and boyish, carefree, happy, his gray eyes shining with love for Sally Dollahan. They were a pair.

  Now Sally was absent and Kim was sunk and would rather be absent, too, if his present behavior meant anything. I felt sorry, the way you always do when things are not clicking as they should between a couple of very nice kids.

  The talk had moved into local affairs. There was chatter about things and people unfamiliar to me, about Theatre’48, Hockaday School, Brookhollow, the Dallas Country Club, the Cipango Club. From there it went to personalities. It was interesting to hear how Amanda Dollahan and Lucius Brady, working as a team, kept any open hint of malice out of gossip which was, I imagined, definitely malicious.

  We went on from the cocktail room to dinner. The Club was locally famous for its Creole cuisine. There was good reason.

  Later on, we went as Lucius Brady’s guests to the Mural Room in the Baker Hotel, where we were to catch the supper show.

  Rosemary Willoz contrived to ride from the Club to the hotel with Patrick. I rode in a handsome Cadillac town car with Amanda and Kim Forsythe and Iles, who did the driving. Brady rode again with Juliana Willoz.

  In the Mural Room later I said, “I’m surprised you asked me for the first dance, Patrick, dear.”

  “I’d get hell if I didn’t, sugar-pie.”

  “Did you learn that Texas sweet-talk from Rosemary, lamb?”

  “What do you think, lamb-pie?”

  “Well, if you did, I hope she fades young or something.”

  “Tut,” Patrick said. “Tut, ma’am.”

  “Seriously, she’s a smart cooky, I bet. But you’re wasting good time. She’s after Lucius Brady.”

  “Mustn’t let it happen, ma’am. That roué? Over my dead body, s’help me.”

  “I’m being serious and you would do well to listen, Patrick Abbott. The competition between the Willoz sisters for that aging item from New York is intense. Mark my word, and never say I didn’t warn you.”

  Rosemary came by just then, dancing with Kim Forsythe, her face planked somewhere just above his stomach, her little smile against his nice dark jacket. He looked mad enough to crack a couple of her tough little vertebrae. He hadn’t said a word all evening. Now he was talking a streak. I called Patrick’s attention to Kim’s golden opportunity to do Rosemary in. He deçlared that the only person present in imminent danger was Juliana Willoz. If she didn’t stop talking, Patrick said, somebody would resort to an axe. This concluded our ill-bred remarks about our hosts at that time.

  Chapter 3

  Lucius Brady was the country girl’s—which means me—notion of a sophisticated New Yorker. He was always at ease, yet he never gave the impression of being easy approachable. He spoke with a smart accent, clipped and sure, but never stiff or exaggerated. You imagined he would feel at home in any city, but never in the country, and that he could take on the color of whatever city he was in with a chameleon’s celerity. Dallas would be home to him as easily as Paris, but when in Dallas never by word or sign would he suggest that New York or Paris or London or Rome or any other old and celebrated place might be even a trifle superior.

  His party this evening was expensive and unostentatious. It was in perfect taste. We ate simple, costly things. The champagne was the best. It flowed freely and of itself would have made the supper party memorable. Brady behaved as though he were entertaining in his private home. The waiters, no doubt very well tipped and probably accustomed to his ways, seemed to take a special interest in looking after his guests. He was on terms of chatty acquaintance with the orchestra leader and the entertainers. And there was never a slow moment, nor an uncouth one, and we all felt sorry when the hour arrived when the restaurant had legally to close.

  By now the edges of my first impressions had worn off, possibly because of the champagne, and I felt kindly towards everyone, even Rosemary. But Juliana was very tiresome. She was so ceaselessly glad.

  Kim was staying, like ourselves, at the Adolphus. As we crossed the lobby of the Baker Hotel on leaving the Mural Room Iles said, “Now you must come and see our house, folks. It was really what I wanted you to do
most, but I had forgotten that this is the night our help takes off. All of you come. Kim, you come too. You can ride back down town with the Abbotts, maybe.”

  “And I’ll fetch Lucius!” Juliana said, gladly.

  Iles’s face showed plainly that he didn’t want Brady. But to omit him would be rudeness, after his charming party, and Amanda hastened to insist.

  I managed to ride back with Patrick.

  “Rosemary is nothing but a type, Pat,” I conceded generously.

  “That does for her,” Patrick said.

  “Seriously. And she collects. She collects men. She hates to see any get away. Once you admit that, she’s just silly.”

  “Unless it’s your man.”

  “Naturally. I wonder what Kim was saying to her? Something tough, I think. I’m glad Kim’s going back to the house. Iles wanted him to come because of Sally.”

  “Could be.”

  “Rosemary’s very keen about Brady. Probably because he’s difficult to collect. They’re all after him, hard.”

  “Do you infer that Amanda would stoop to an impurity?”

  “Certainly not. Perhaps Lucius Brady impresses her and she merely wants to impress him back.”

  “Brady would be a hard guy to impress, Jean. Hard to impress. Hard to collect. That does for Brady.”

  “What does he do?”

  “He sells jewels. In a big way. The crazier women are about Brady the easier his job is probably. He’s with Ferrier’s, the big jewelry house in New York. He just fetched Amanda those ruby clips. Executing her special order, he called it—it was her idea but Ferrier’s design. They are very beautiful stuff. They set Iles Dollahan back a fat hunk of oil money. Now you know all I know, so we’ll never mention Brady again.”

  “How much do you suppose the red horses cost?”

  “Iles said fifteen thousand for the pair. They were cheap at the price. Many of the rubies are of good size and all are the very bestcolor. They are Burma rubies, the pigeon-blood red kind which is so highly prized.”

  “For goodness’ sake. How did you learn all that?”

  “From Amanda, dear. What do you think Amanda and I talked about while we were dancing? Her flying red horses, of course. They’re her passion.”

  “They and Rosemary and Lucius Brady … Isn’t this the way we took when we came out to their Club?”

  “Yes. Their house is a little beyond the Club. On the opposite bank of Turtle Creek.”

  The night was warm and the moon was shining. There was the satiny feeling of rain in the air, but as far as I could make out from the car, the sky was cloudless. The air was heavy with an indefinable aromatic sweetness, the smell of early spring. The trees were in bud. Daffodils and hyacinths and forsythia bloomed along the way.

  “We mustn’t stay long, Pat. Amanda doesn’t really want us. And you have to get up early. Didn’t I hear you make a date with Iles for seven in the morning?”

  “Yep. He’s having breakfast with me before flying out to Odessa. Kim is going with him. They’ve got trouble of some kind out on a lease. Sounds rugged. I heard Iles ask Kim if he remembered to fetch his gun.”

  “Just like Texas in the movies. It was nice of you to dance with Juliana, Pat.”

  “I’m a very nice guy, Jean. Because Juliana can’t dance. Also she talks all the time. Amanda is an adequate dancer and Rosemary is a cuddly little armful of sweet-scented fluff, but Juliana … And do you appreciate the fact that I danced not once, but twice, with Juliana?”

  “That was sweet. Really it was, dear.”

  “I say. And she told me her secret.”

  “She did?”

  “I’m not allowed to tell you, Jeanie.”

  “That’s all right. I can wait. The awful thing about the secrets of girls like Juliana is that you can wait to know them.”

  “Juliana has a better time than either of the others,” Patrick said. “She doesn’t know she’s a dud. She’s happy about every little thing. She is satisfied with life just as it comes. She had always been taken advantage of, but she is incapable of resentment. She is entirely unselfish. I guess nothing is as boring as complete unselfishness.”

  “Unless it’s complete gladness. Well, that settles Juliana. I hope our Pancho is behaving himself.”

  “By this time that conceited canine will have taken over the premises.”

  Iles drove ahead of us. Juliana’s car, with Brady at the wheel, followed us at about half a block. We drove under a trestle or a viaduct, and on our right I saw Turtle Creek. It wasn’t a large stream, and obviously it was flooded. In the moonlight you could see the water moving at a fast pace. The creek was thickly edged with trees and shrubs not yet in leaf. You saw the water through a lacework of twigs and branches.

  We were stopped by a red light. Ahead of us Iles slowed down, and when we could move on circled with his left hand to indicate that we were to make the next turning to the right.

  He turned, turned back immediately along the opposite bank of the creek, crossed a bridge and followed a narrow one-way street. The water was close beside us for a short distance. Then the street angled away and there were houses between us and the creek. Iles turned into a graveled drive and went on into a large garage. There was wide parking space outside. We parked here and Brady parked over to our right. Either car had room to go out without the other having to be moved.

  In the stillness which followed the hush of the three motors the night was full of the sound of rushing water and the trilling of countless frogs. The air was rich with the scent of the hyacinths which bordered the curving flagstone walk from the parking space to the main entrance of the house.

  The Dollahan house was painted white, two stories high, and built with a central portion and two wings. The servants’ quarters were over the garage, which was separated by a covered terrace angling from the kitchen wing of the house.

  Inside, the house was in the American colonial tradition, with a central hall from the main entrance to a terrace which ran the full length of the house along the creek. There were deep pile carpets pale walls, white wood-work, mahogany furniture of classic design, pictures in heavy gold-leaf frames, and upholstery in pale colors. The house lacked color, but it made a fine neutral background for the deep reds and rich blues which I later learned that Amanda loved to wear. The place lacked personality, except Sally’s room and Iles Dollahan’s bar.

  Patrick and Kim and Lucius Brady went off at once with Iles to the pine-paneled room he called the bar.

  Amanda was showing me the dining room when there was a rush on the stairs and Pancho came down, followed by Sally Dollahan. She had changed to a white off-the-shoulder blouse and a long full skirt and ballet slippers. Her wonderful hair was shining, and hanging free in a long page-boy style.

  Rosemary and Juliana had vanished into the downstairs powder room. Amanda, on seeing Pancho, hastily joined them.

  “How has Pancho behaved, Sally?”

  “He’s wonderful. He spent the evening guarding me the way a good dog always does.”

  I laughed. “Pat said he would have taken over the premises, Sally. We missed you this evening.”

  “I … I didn’t want to come. Will you lunch with me tomorrow?”

  “I’d love to. I’m shopping in the morning.”

  “Then how about lunching at Neiman’s? Say about one.”

  “It’s a date,” I said. Sally suddenly froze. I said, “What’s wrong?”

  I needn‘t’ve asked because Kim was coming into the hall from the living room.

  “Sally, if you will only let me explain?” he said.

  “I’m sorry.”

  Kim looked the picture of misery. His mouth trembled. His gray eyes were dark with anguish.

  Sally lifted a honey-colored shoulder.

  “Jean, will you come see my room?”

  Kim’s lips hardened. Without another word he left the house. He went out by way of the terrace. I saw the gleam of the water in the creek before the door closed.
br />   Now Sally’s lips were trembling. Her eyes filled with tears.

  I went with her upstairs. Pancho showed us the way quite as if he had always lived here. In her room which overlooked the creek he at once went to a basket which had belonged, Sally said, to Sam. The room was done in modern style with a good deal of white and some yellow. It was attractive, informal, and young.

  “Amanda had it antique,” Sally said. “But I wanted it this way and Iles said to do what I liked. I had most of these things in college.”

  “Where did you go, Sally?”

  “Austin,” Sally said. I remembered that the State University is at Austin. “Smoke?”

  “Thanks.”

  We settled down for a smoke. I sat in a chair and Sally folded down on an ottoman. Pancho curled himself in the basket with an ear up for listening.

  Sally said, “Did you ever hate anyone violently?”

  “Of course, Sally.”

  “A female?”

  “Often with women, it’s another female, I think.”

  “She’s stinking. I tell myself every day, every hour, that it’s not worth it. I go out, do things, get her off my mind. But she doesn’t stay off. She comes back, with her little sickly smile. Always, there she is, smiling.”

  So it was Rosemary, not Amanda, that she hated.

  “Is she after Kim, Sally?”

  “She’s after everybody. She even goes after Iles when Amanda has her back turned. Iles is so sweet and honest he doesn’t even know what she’s up to!”

  Sally got up and got me an ash tray and sat down again.

  “Funny thing about man-collectors, Sally. They seldom get a good man for their own. For keeps, I mean.”

  “She doesn’t want one. She had a good man. He was old but she did the snaring. She got the marriage annulled. He let her nick him for three million dollars, if you please.”

  “Gosh.”

  “Ever since she’s been what she calls independent. But she won’t live alone. Not she. And Amanda and Juliana think her pink perfection.”

  All at once Sally laughed her clear, girlish laugh.

  “If I’m not careful you’ll know who I mean, Jean.”

  “You needn’t be careful. She’s already trying to latch onto my Pat. Fortunately, she’s not his type.”